Sly Cooper: Dark Designs
by pharmmajor
Summary: The Cooper gang has been recruited for an incredibly dangerous mission. Six mystical artifacts are in the hands of madmen across the world, and they must be retrieved at all costs. It's a challenge that not even the world's greatest thief may accomplish.


**SLY COOPER: DARK DESIGNS**

Disclaimer: Sly Cooper and all related characters are the property of Sucker Punch Productions. This story uses such characters purely for entertainment, not for profit.

Prologue - Tying Up Loose Ends

(Note: The events in this chapter take place immediately after the end of "Sly 2: Band of Thieves")

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Paris, France: 1:14 A.M.

"I'll find you Cooper! I swear it!" Sly Cooper heard the fiery cry from above as he gently paraglided down to the rooftops of Paris. He smiled at the sound of Inspector Carmelita Fox's now-cliched threats. _Ah Carmelita, I hope you never lose that charming temper of yours_, he thought to himself. He had appreciated his brief time in captivity with the fiery vixen, finally getting a chance to sit down and chat with his rival. They both had a great time talking and reminiscing about the times they had crossed paths; it was actually fun, and the lovely Ms. Fox was very open and friendly. Sly almost felt bad about escaping from her again after she'd gone through so much, he almost regretted taking the bottle of wine that Carmelita had saved up for the day of his capture. but Bentley and Murray had his escape all prepared, and he couldn't disappoint them. _I owe you guys, and I will make it up to you._ The thoughts of his two best friends quickly changed his demeanor to one of sorrow.

Images of the battle against Clock-La were still fresh in his mind. He cursed himself for putting his pals in such danger - it was his fault they were hurt so badly. He tried to shut them out, but they still played over and over again in his mind: the look of anguish on Murray's face as he held the bruised turtle, the way they left their gear behind as they left, it was too much to bear. _I shouldn't have gotten them involved in this, _Sly's guilty conscience berated him. _This wasn't their battle, but they got caught up in it anyway. No more. I'll never let Bentley or Murray get hurt because of me again, I swear it!_ Sly's guilt trip was interrupted, however, by a most peculiar sound...

...RIIIIP!

The falling raccoon looked above him and saw the last thing he wanted to see - his Paraglider was tearing in half. It was probably damaged in the fight on Arpeggio's blimp, and now it was ready to come apart. His ringed tail twitched nervously as he saw the seams come apart more and more, until finally the cloth split apart. Sly then looked down at the rooftops of the city below, noticing that they were growing very close, very quickly. "Great, the perfect end to a rotten day," he grimaced, frantically trying to think of a plan to save himself. He'd need his wits, or at least a miracle, to save him from becoming roadkill.

But then again, improvisation was one of his best traits. Scanning the rapidly approaching skyline of Paris, he frantically sought out anything he could use to hinder his fall. The search wasn't faring so well, however - he was far from a body of water to reduce the shock of his fall, and any flat rooftops were out of reach. Sly's time, and his confidence, were running out. He imagined that the leading story on the papers tomorrow would be the announcement of his death. _Hold on, they'll have to write my obituary another day!_ he thought happily as he spied a power line below him. It was right in the path of his fall, and it could save him, but he'd have to time it right. "Please let this work, please," he quietly prayed.

Despite his speedy descent, time seemed to slow down for Sly as he attempted to pull off his do-or-die stunt. Tucking wine close to his chest, he moved his falling body slightly closer to the power lines, passing right beside them...

... he extended his cane out in his hand before he had completely passed...

... it hooked onto the cable!

Sly breathed a quick sigh of relief for his last-minute salvation, but his sense of security faded away once again when he heard an ominous snapping noise. Looking at his cane, he saw to his shock that the power cable was beginning to snap. The force of impact from his cane must have been too much for it to bear. "Crap. Why didn't I pay more attention in physics?" Sly berated himself for getting himself into another mess. Thankfully, the cable was just starting to break, so he still had some time. Putting all his body weight into the cane, he began to swing back and forth, picking up the speed necessary to make a successful leap. Just as the wire snapped, he released his grip and hurtled forward, landing on the roof of a parked car with a heavy impact.

"Gyaah!" he groaned in pain as his right leg seemed to shatter from the landing. Sly checked the bottle he had tucked in his arm. Thankfully, it was unbroken. Quickly setting it down on the roof, he clutched his leg and began to rub it in the hopes that it would ease the pain. In the background he could hear dozens of citizens shouting about their sudden loss of electricity, brought about by a severed power line. "Heh, guess I'll be sending a check to the electric company to cover the repairs," he joked through gritted teeth. "No reason they should have to pay for my actions." Grabbing the wine, Sly climbed down from the car and limped off to find the closest safe house in the area so he could recuperate and prepare to finish what he needed to do.

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The _Hopital Europeen Georges Pompidou_ was one of Paris' finest hospitals, offering quality medical care to those in need. Its patients came from all walks of life; rich and poor, nationally-born and foreign born, law-abiding citizens and... law-breaking citizens. It hadn't taken long for Sly to learn that this was the hospital where his crew had been taken to treat their injuries - he'd gotten the information on the morning news as anchors across the world reported on their battle against Clock-La and the aftermath of the spectacular conflict. As he stared at the hospital from across the street, he kept muttering under his breath, trying to figure out what he'd say to his friends. It had to be right, he didn't want to hurt them any more than they already had been. Sighing heavily, he crossed the street.

Sly limped towards the main entrance to the hospital, his leg still gving him pain from the previous night. With that injury, scaling the walls to see his pals was out of the question. This evening was one of the few times in his life when the only option was the front door. He'd taken every precaution to ensure that, on the off chance there were any police keeping guard over his friends, he wouldn't be easily identified. It only took some brown fur dye and the proper blending techniques, green contact lenses and a change of wardrobe to pass himself off as a handsome squirrel. Confident that no one would be able to tell who he really was, Sly confidently entered the lobby and approached the desk.

"_Bon soir, monsieur," _the receptionist, a blonde-haired mouse, cheerfully greeted Sly. "How may I help you this evening?"

"I'm here to see an old friend of mine, _madame_," he cooly replied, slipping his voice down to a suave baritone. "His name is Bentley Shellhammer, we went to school together. I heard about his accident on the news and I had to come and see him to make sure he's okay. Maybe my visit will help speed along his recovery."

"Ah, _oui_, I heard about it on the radio this morning. Such a horrible thing; those people were almost killed by that monster. I do hope the poor man and his friend heal soon. Might I ask your name, _monsieur_?"

"My name is Danny Ocean. Could you please tell me what room I'll find him in?"

"One moment, _monsieur,"_ she answered before heading over to the patient registry. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before she opened the registry and began searching through it. It was a subtle action, but it greatly worried Sly. What if Interpol knew he'd come to visit his friends? What if they'd instructed hospital staff to contact them if anyone came by to visit? No, no, they'd probably expect him to find another way in, there'd be no reason to expect him to come in through the normal entrances. But supposed they'd planned for every possibility... the stress was beginning to get to Sly. He started to sweat as he feared Carmelita and a slew of agents would come in and arrest him before he had the chance to see Bentley and Murray. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the receptionist came back over to him and handed him a "VISITOR" pass.

"Here your are, sir. _Monsieur_ Shellhammer is resting in room 205. The elevator is down the hall, to the left of the restrooms. He's sharing a room with the other fellow injured, a _Monsieur_ Hippo. I do hope your visit will help brighten their spirits. The poor fellows."

"I hope it will, also. _Merci, madame_." Sly pined the pass on his shirt and limped down the hall to the elevator. He hopped in and pressed the button for the second floor, all the while nervously trying to string together what he was going to say to his friends...

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Bentley kicked back in his bed, his nose buried deep in one of Camus' works to take his mind of the numbness in his legs. He was impressed at how effective the treatment he'd recieved was at eliminating the pain he felt, not to mention the comfort and appeal of his room while he recuperated. The staff had even been kind enough to check him out some books from a nearby library to make his stay less boring. Despite all the kindness he'd been shown, it didn't help to soothe his troubled mind. Both he and Murray were deeply worried about Sly; what would he be doing now that he managed to escape from Carmelita? Did he even survive the fall? And what did he think when he saw them leave their gear behind after walking away from the site of Clock-La's crash? It was a simple reason - they were both weak and had to get rid of the strain caused by the excess weight of their equipment. But would that be enough of an explanation for Sly? Bentley sighed in sorrow as he tried to focus on his reading.

"Hey Bentley, you've got a long recovery ahead. You might wanna give your brain a rest." The cheerful, joking tone caused the turtle's ears to perk up immediately. Could it really be him? He hadn't even heard the door open... but that's to be expected from one with _his_ skills. Tossing the book aside, Bentley looked up into the smiling face of his childhood friend.

"Sly! You made it away from Carmelita!" he happily shouted out! "Oh, man, you can't comprehend how wonderful it is to see you again!"

"The feeling's mutual, pal. By the way, thanks again for that last-minute escape plan. It really came in handy." He moved over to the right and stood aside of Bentley. "So, how are you doing?"

"My recuperation is progressing slowly, but the treatment Murray and I have received is superb. I've been scheduled for surgery tomorrow afternoon to repair the damage to my legs. From what I understand, the blunt force of Clock-La's beak shattered my pelvis, femurs, and coccygeal vertebrae. Thankfully, there was no serious nerve damage, or I would have spent the rest of my life as a paraplegic." The discussion of his injuries was clearly having an impact on Sly - he could see the guilt rising on his face. Not wishing to upset his friend, he decided to turn the discussion to a more pleasant topic. "Eh, but the physicians are quite confident that I'll be able to walk again in about six or seven weeks. Admittedly that's longer than I'd prefer, but I am a patient person."

"Glad to hear that you'll be okay, Bentley," a smile cracked through Sly's face. "Say, where's Murray? The receptionist said that he was in this room with you."

"He got thirsty, so he went to get a soda from the vending machine. That was about three minutes ago. I assume he's having difficulty deciding which beverage will best quench his thirst."

"Good. I need to see him as well. There's something I have to tell the both of you..."

"Hey Bentley, I thought you might be thirsty as well," the husky, somewhat child like voice boomed from the hallway, "but I didn't know what kind of drink you wanted, so I got you some bottled water." Sly and Bentley watched as a large pink hippo garbed in a green robe and a sling around his right arm lumbered into the room. "I hope you don't mind... what the? Sly! It's you!" Overcome with joy, Murray rushed at his friend and grabbed him tightly in a massive hug. "Man oh man, this is great! I can't believe you're here."

"Yeah... I'm happy... to see you... too, Murray..." the struggling raccoon struggled as he tried to get air. "Uh... say... you think you could..." Sheepishly, Murray relaxed his grip and let Sly go. Taking a deep breath, he collapsed onto Murray's empty bed. "I see you're still keeping your strength up, buddy."

"Naturally. Not even the deadliest of wounds can diminish the might of 'The Murray'," he bravely growled, flexing his arms in a display of machismo. "Yeow!" He quickly clutched his right arm and began to rub it to ease the pain. Sly and Bentley chuckled at this humorous moment, and Murray soon joined in. When the laughter died down, Sly got to his feet and wiped a tear from his eyes.

"Man, it feels like forever since we've been together," Sly let out a final chuckle, then his face adopted a serious expression. "Anyway, there's something I have to say to the both of you... about what happened when we destroyed Clock-La... I'm sorry. I should have done something to keep you from ending up in here."

His friends stared at him silently, looks of anguish on their faces. Eventually Bentley broke the silence. "Sly, it.. it wasn't your fault we got hurt," he tried to put the somber raccoon at ease. "None of us could foresee the injuries we'd sustain when the battle was over. You weren't the one who hurt us."

"But I shouldn't have put you in danger in the first place!" he sternly yelled, shocking both of his cohorts. "This entire mess started because of a vendetta against my family and myself, and I got the two of you involved without thinking about the risks! What if you'd had died? Or if your legs were permanently damaged, Bentley?"

"But we didn't die, Sly, and Bentley's gonna be fine," Murray stammered, trying to cover up his growing sadness

Now it was the turtle's turn to chime in. "Sly, you didn't force us to help you stop the Klaww Gang. We did it of our own free will, because we're your friends. Ever since childhood we've made a vow to stay together and help each other out, during the good times _and_ the bad times. Last night just happened to be one of the bad times."

"But how many more "bad times" will there be in the future? What happens if we decide to rob some lunatic who kills for pleasure in his spare time? I can't... I can't let you guys get hurt again because of me. I saw the pain in your eyes, I knew how badly the fight had affected you, physically and mentally."

"Sly, if this is about us leaving our gear behind, we had to eliminate any excessive weight to alleviate the strain we felt. You don't honestly think that we were going to leave you, did you?"

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you did, Bentley. That would have been the best thing to do. Since you didn't make that decision, I guess I have to make it for you." Choking back tears, he turned and headed for the door, resting his hand on the frame. "Tonight, Sly Cooper starts working solo. No one I care about will ever again get hurt because of my career. I promise." Before leaving, he turned his head and gave his friends one final look. "Bentley, Murray, thank you for all you've done. You helped me when I needed it the most. If it wasn't for the two of you, I would have never regained my family's heirloom, or avenged my father's death. Heck, the Cooper legacy is richer because of all you two have done. I owe you guys so much... that's why I have to leave. Don't worry, I'll cover the bill until you've healed, then you can get started on your new lives, lives where you won't be in harm's way because of me." He smiled his trademark grin as the tears streamed down his face. "Goodbye guys." Leaving his two best friends aghast, Sly left their room and headed down the hall.

Still reeling from this unpredicted announcement, Murray began to head out after his friend. "Sly, wait up..."

"Murray, let him go," Bentley somberly instructed his friend. The hippo stopped before he had taken two steps. "We have to let him do what he needs to."

"But... but..." he murmured sadly before lying down on his bed and burying his face in his pillow. Bentley went back to his reading to cover up his pain, but the atmosphere in the room was filled with nothing but sorrow.

As Sly trudged back towards the elevator, he kept trying to convince himself that he did the right thing. _They're safe now, they won't get hurt because of my actions anymore. It was the right thing to do... so why do I feel like I have to throw up? _As he wrestled with the aftermath of his decision, he noticed a figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was a male chimp, probably in his mid-20s, and wearing a dark-blue uniform - he was with the police! "Great, they were tipped off," he groaned under his breath, but he was surprised that the officer didn't come charging after him. What was he doing here, then? Making his way down the hall, he heard the chimp talking to himself.

"Man, this is boring," the chimp cop grumbled. "Standing around guarding a vegetable. Who'd I tick off at the station to get this crummy assignment." The officer yawned and stretched his arms. "Ah well, the chief didn't say I couldn't take a coffee break. Not like this girl's going anywhere any time soon." He left his post and walked towards the elevator, passing Sly on the way. "Evening, sir," he greeted the thief before walking by him.

"Good evening, officer," Sly responded, silently congratulating himself for the effectiveness of his disguise. His curiosity piqued, he had to see who was in that room. Making sure the cop was out of sight, he opened the door and went in. When he saw who the patient was, his blood ran cold. A tigress with purple-tinged fur, lying there on the bed. Her limbs were bound tightly, and in place of her left leg was a stump covered in bandages; it was most likely amputated. She was hooked up to a slew of machines monitoring her vital signs.

"Neyla!" Sly was in shock. How could she have survived?. It seemed like it took an hour to make his way over to her bedside. Looking down at her, he saw that her eyes were wide open, but their expression was completely vacant, and her face expressionless. He could tell that she was oblivious to the world around her. Constable Neyla, who merely hours ago posed a mortal threat to everyone on earth, was now brain-dead. Sly glared menacingly at the comatose cat. "You deserved worse," he growled. He walked away from her as quickly as he could, not wanting to spend another second near that maniac. Besides, he still had some other business to attend to before the night was over. Getting Carmelita's wine back to her with a bad leg would take a bit of effort. Once this was over and he'd taken the time to heal, he would get back to his life's work of robbing from the criminal scum of the earth... work he'd now be doing alone.

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(Any reviews, comments or creative criticisms are appreciated. I hope you liked my first foray into the world of Sly Cooper fan fiction, and I hope you'll stay tuned for Chapter I.)


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